


what is my body (if it is not a blade)

by lutes_and_dandelions



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, accidental injury, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28000260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutes_and_dandelions/pseuds/lutes_and_dandelions
Summary: After accidentally elbowing Emhyr in his sleep, bruising him significantly, Geralt spirals to the point of seeking help from the palace councillor. Barely able to touch Emhyr even in the gentlest of ways, Geralt attempts to convince himself that he is not the weapon he has always believed himself to be.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 21
Kudos: 108





	what is my body (if it is not a blade)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handwrittenhello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handwrittenhello/gifts).



> Happy Birthday my lovely!!! I hope you're having a fabulous day! You're the best and I love you lots! <3

Since moving into Emhyr’s bedroom, Geralt had never woken up without Emhyr by his side. The bedroom itself was actually a suite of rooms, within Emhyr’s private apartment in the part of the palace that overlooked the gardens. As most nobility either did or pretended to sleep in separate beds, the bedroom was actually two separate bedrooms with a large dressing room between them. Emhyr’s bedroom was to the left and the Emperor Consort’s was to the right. Technically that room belonged to Geralt in everything but name, as they weren’t married, but he’d never slept in it, instead sharing Emhyr’s bed every night. It was what they’d both wanted since they’d begun their relationship. However there appeared to be a first time for everything, and as Elis, Geralt’s chamberlain, threw open the bedroom curtains, letting in the weak morning light, Geralt felt how cold the other side of the bed was and frowned. 

“Where’s Emhyr?” He asked, voice still rough from sleep. 

“I don’t know,” Elis answered, it had taken Geralt a long time to make him drop the _Sir_. “Mererid informed me this morning that His Majesty had started his day earlier than usual and that I was to attend to you myself.”

“Right.” 

That was strange. They had very strict rules when it came to communication. Geralt knew he’d not done anything to anger or annoy Emhyr and even if he had, Emhyr would have told him. What was odd was that Emhyr _hadn’t_ mentioned he needed to wake early. Even if there had been some kind of emergency, Emhyr would have woken him. 

Geralt wondered about it while he ate his breakfast and while he dressed for the day. He continued considering it while he exercised Roach, while he exercised himself, and then during his subsequent bath. After lunch Geralt went in search of his lover but couldn’t find Emhyr anywhere, not unusual per say, the palace and its grounds covered more than ten hectares of land, but what was unusual was that no one else supposed knew where Emhyr was either. The staff lied to him with varying degrees of competence. Some of them delivered the deception smoothly while others stammered it, sweating and were unable to look him in the eye. He couldn’t even find Ciri to see if she could get anything more from the staff because she was touring the provinces with Morvran. 

By the time night rolled around, Geralt was verging on annoyed. If Emhyr needed to keep something secret that was fine, but he just needed to _say_ that there was something he had to keep to himself. That was okay. Geralt had thought Emhyr knew that but apparently not. 

Once again he set off in search of his love, making sure to be sneaky about it. He crept around the palace, listened at doors to try and catch even a whisper of where Emhyr could be. It wasn’t his finest of moments, but he couldn’t shake the idea that something was wrong. Of course he knew that nothing could be wrong, they were in the Palace of Nilfgaard, in the heart of Nilfgaard City but a couple of years indoors and eating regular meals was not quite enough to shake off the many lessons he’d learnt while on the path. His gut was telling him to find Emhyr, so he was going to find him.

As the clock towers around the city chimed ten, Geralt caught the tail end of a conversation regarding taking supper to one of the small offices on the first floor. No one who usually worked on the first floor would eat anything so extravagant and expensive as quail’s eggs with Toussaintois pule. It didn’t take long to find the office, halfway there Geralt picked up Emhyr’s scent, which made the going even easier. Geralt didn’t knock before opening the door.

Emhyr was sitting behind a desk, reading papers by candlelight, dressed in his robes of state. Upon seeing Geralt enter his heart rate kicked up a notch and the scent of stress began to roll off him, although he appeared outwardly composed. A further deep breath in through his nose and Geralt could also detect the scent of arnica hanging around Emhyr, even though he usually hated the flower. Against Geralt’s chest, his medallion twitched far harder than it normally did when Emhyr wore such attire. 

As usual, pinned to Emhyr’s black tunic was a golden broach in the likeness of the Great Sun. It wasn’t just for ornamental effect either, also doubling as a glamour. Emhyr was _the_ Emperor, and thus couldn’t show any weakness. Even so much as dark circles under his eyes from a poor night's sleep could have disasterous consequences. The glamour was an easy solution to hide such things from his court. A charmed object, the broach always emitted a low level of magic, and was easily detected by Geralt’s medallion. However the severe way his medallion was reacting to the broach was yet another addition to the list of odd occurrences that Geralt had been presented with that day. 

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked. Not the question he had planned asking upon seeing Emhyr but still an important one. 

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Emhyr answered, placing down the document he had been holding. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. How’s your day been?” 

“Oh, you know, the usual.” There was a strange atmosphere hanging in the air between them, making Geralt frown. Nothing about the day had been normal and Emhyr not returning to their apartment for dinner, instead choosing to sit and work in a random office not fit for him was beyond peculiar.

“Ronan, is that you?” Geralt really didn’t think it was the doppler Emhyr sometimes called upon to stand in for him when he was sick but it never hurt to check such things. 

“As if you wouldn’t know by the scent,” he rolled his eyes, and then steepled fingers, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. 

Not wanting to dance around the subject any longer, Geralt moved to Emhyr’s side of the desk and leant back against the edge. Placing his hand on Emhyr’s shoulder, Geralt simply asked, “Why?”

Emhyr didn’t answer, merely stared up at him, face giving nothing away. Geralt stared back, willing to wait while Emhyr played his own mental game of possibility chess. The truth was, of course, the best option and because it was Geralt, the one Emhyr would likely take but he still always liked to weigh up all of his other options first. 

As Emhyr rose to his feet, Geralt’s hand fell away from his shoulder, instead resting on his waist. He was unsure what to expect from Emhyr’s chosen course of action, and he certainly wasn’t expecting Emhyr cup his neck and lean in to press an achingly sweet kiss to Geralt’s lips. He’d barely had a chance to return it when Emhyr moved away. 

“I love you,” Emhyr said, voice low and filled with something Geralt couldn’t put his finger on, the acrid smell of stress thickening with the intensity of the arnica. 

“I love you too,” he replied, bemused. 

“And,” Emhyr continued, “I need you to understand that nothing will ever change that.”

“Your privy council isn't pushing you to marry again are they?” 

“Do you believe me when I say that?” He asked instead, ignoring Geralt’s question. 

Geralt considered it, knowing Emhyr wanted the proper answer not just what Geralt thought Emhyr wanted to hear. Finally, Geralt answered, “I believe you.”

Emhyr acknowledged his statement with a sharp nod and then stepped back, removing the broach. 

A sharp gasp forced its way past Geralt’s lips. The right side of Emhyr’s lovely, regal face was marred by a hideous blue and purple bruise. It crept into his hairline, darkened his nose and cheek, tendrils swept under his jaw, over his forehead, and it looked _painful_. Even talking must have been painful for Emhyr, kissing even more so.

“They excelled the healing,” Emhyr explained, “but there was only so much the mages could do. It should turn green the day after tomorrow.”

“Who did that to you?” Geralt asked, his shock quickly being replaced with anger and guilt. Someone had hurt his love! Of course Emhyr was more than capable of defending himself but Geralt still felt terrible for not being there to stop it. 

Emhyr looked at him, eyes horribly sad, the set of his mouth grim. 

“You did.”

The words felt like a physical blow, like Emhyr had struck Geralt across the face. Except Emhyr hadn’t, he’d only spoken two words, yet Geralt still reared back from the force of them. He felt sick, immediately and wholly. 

“How?” He choked out, staggering away, putting the desk between him and Emhyr lest he hurt him even more. 

“I’m not entirely sure but I think you elbowed me in your sleep.”

“And you didn’t wake me?!” Geralt exclaimed, mind whirling, planning his fastest route from the city and back to the path. He wouldn’t be proud of running, but he couldn’t hurt Emhyr if he was in the middle of nowhere.

“I needed a little time.”

“For what?”

“To process what had happened and consider any ledges I might have to talk you down from upon finding out.” Emhyr was still holding himself together so well, it was infuriating. Geralt wanted Emhyr to be angry, wanted him to rant and rave but none of that wasn’t happening. 

Instead he remained calm, even as Geralt snapped, “I’m not going to do anything stupid.” Despite the fact he’d definitely just been considering doing something stupid and they _both_ knew that. “If I hadn’t come in search of you,” Geralt continued, “would you even have told me?” 

“I...dont know.” Such an admission would usually make Geralt feel incredible, under the circumstances it was impossible to acknowledge the vulnerability Emhyr was showing him. “I knew you’d react poorly.”

“Of course I’m reacting poorly! I hurt you and I didn’t even know it!” Geralt shouted, beginning to pace jerkily around the room, roughly shoving his hands through his hair. 

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” A concession Geralt knew Emhyr was only giving because he thought it would make Geralt feel a little better. He hated that it did, albeit only marginally. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t just leave on some unforeseen bit of state business,” Geralt grumbled. 

“There was nothing pressing that warranted my attention so I couldn’t justify leaving the palace.”

“What a shame,” Geralt rolled his eyes, stilling to look at Emhyr, nausea redoubling as he once again set eyes upon the bruise he’d inflicted. "I’ve not done this before have I?”

“No.” The answer was thankfully sincere, and a little weight lifted from Geralt’s chest. Emhyr rounded the desk and approached Geralt slowly. “I _know_ you were considering it, so if you really feel like you must leave I will not stop you. However, I’m not so proud I can’t admit that I would like you to stay.” 

“You are that proud,” Geralt murmured, heart pounding at Emhyr’s admission, his version of getting down on his knees and begging. 

“Yes,” he agreed, “but you are worth putting it all aside just for a few moments to ensure my continued happiness.”

“Selfish.” But it wasn’t said as an insult. In fact, after being so easily discarded by so many, Geralt loved the lengths Emhyr would go to to keep Geralt by his side. If Emhyr wanted to dress them up as selfish acts then Geralt would let him, they both knew that the decisions weren’t as selfishly motivated as Emhyr would have people believe.. 

“Indeed,” Emhyr said, crowding into Geralt’s space and kissing him, fingers gently grasping his jaw, saying just as much with actions as he could with words. Geralt could barely kiss back, feeling so utterly unworthy of Emhyr’s touch. 

“I’m so sorry,” Geralt whispered against Emhyr’s lips. 

“I know,” Emhyr kissed him again, “I know you are. Come to bed?”

Geralt swallowed, nodded and then allowed himself to be led back to their bedrooms, Emhyr easily abandoning whatever he’d been reading. He walked in a haze, unable to pay attention to where they were going or who they passed on the journey, his feet moved on automatic. The next time he became truly aware, he was seated on one of the armchairs in the dressing room. Emhyr was undressing for the night in front of one of the wooden privacy screens, throwing his worn clothes over the top of it, not letting his eyes stray from Geralt’s face. Geralt watched on, feeling wretched as he stared at the bruise. It looked awful and he couldn’t imagine it would look any better in the cold light of day. 

Hurting Emhyr in his sleep was not a fear Geralt had had, or even considered as a possibility until it quite literally elbowed him in the face. As it was, Geralt couldn’t stop thinking about it and was worried he never would stop. 

Naked at last, Emhyr turned away to grab his nightshirt and Geralt let his eyes rove over the line of his shoulders, his surprisingly slender back and narrow hips, the curve of his bum, the lean muscles of his legs, the dip of his ankles. The sight made Geralt’s heart ache, he wanted to reach for Emhyr, hold him in his arms and draw comfort from him but he didn’t trust himself. 

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Emhyr said, slipping the shirt on, the soft cotton falling to his knees as he turned back to Geralt. 

“I think I’ll sleep in my own bed tonight,” Geralt decided, looking to his right, towards the dark bedroom. 

Emhyr didn’t ask if he was sure, instead he crossed the room and stepped into the space between Geralt’s open legs. He threaded his fingers into Geralt’s hair and gently pulled his head back so he could look down into Geralt’s eyes, scratching lightly at his scalp. Geralt allowed himself to slip the very tips of his fingers underneath Emhyr’s night shirt, touching his warm skin ever so lightly. 

“I did consider it, you know, before we began our relationship. I was well aware of the danger I put myself in by sharing a bed with one who has lived for as long as you and been through such hardship. I understood the risk but it was one I considered worth taking and one I’d still take. Although I understand and accept that you don’t want to take that risk right now,” Emhyr said, the easy respect he showed Geralt’s decision making something warm unfurl in his chest. “You know where I am.”

Geralt nodded and when Emhyr leaned down to kiss him, Geralt kissed back, frowning into it. “Goodnight, my darling,” Emhyr murmured, before kissing Geralt on the forehead and retreating to his, to their, bedroom. 

Running a hand over his face, Geralt sat back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn’t express how he felt, so many emotions had mixed together into a heady cocktail that threatened to overwhelm Geralt. All he did know was that he felt awful. With a sigh, Geralt pushed himself to his feet and trudged into his bedroom, extinguishing the dressing room candles with a snap of his fingers. 

The bed was far too soft and far too cold without Emhyr beside him, radiating heat. It took Geralt a long time to fall asleep.

-oOo-

The next morning Geralt rode out of the Nilfgaard city, the autumn colours of the open countryside not moving him in the slightest thanks to the turmoil that still filled him. He’d announced his intentions to take Roach out for a long hack over breakfast. Emhyr had stared at him for a long moment, the bruises once again hidden by the glamour, before nodding, accepting Geralt’s claim that he’d return by sunset.

As the distance increased between himself and the city gate, Geralt kept turning in his saddle, searching to see if anyone was following him, ready to lose anyone on his tail. However the further he travelled the more he became certain that no one _was_ following. Changing tactics, he searched for any birds or deer that might have been mages covertly trailing him and looking for anyone appearing to be peasantry joining the road. However there were no suspicious animals and no one joined him. He truly was alone. Emhyr had allowed him to leave the city unaccompanied, trusting his word that he’d return. Geralt didn’t trust himself but Emhyr did. He always believed Emhyr when he said he loved Geralt, but acts such as this, that unequivocally showed the depth of Emhyr’s feelings for him, still blindsided Geralt. 

Pushing Roach into a trot he swiped haphazardly at his eyes, swallowing as he tried to push down the emotion that had just surged up in his chest. If Emhyr was normal, he’d understand how dangerous Geralt was and not want to be anywhere near him. Geralt was simultaneously grateful Emhyr hadn’t sent him away or let him leave while also being filled with dread that what had happened wouldn’t be a one off incident, that the next time the injury would be worse. If he could bruise, then he could break a bone just as easily. It was a wonder he hadn’t cracked Emhyr’s cheek or smashed his nose. The thought alone sent a shiver of fear down Geralt’s spine. 

Geralt tried to focus on his surroundings, to properly look at the coloured leaves adorning the trees, the way the grass had been moved by animals, the farmer’s fields.. However, it did him no good. Even when he joined the river, the wide stretch of the Alba moving at a lazy pace towards the sea, something that he usually found awe inspiring as the river was far wider than the Pontar and the Yuruga combined, it did nothing to lift his spirits. 

A part of Geralt hoped some drowners would pop up, to give him something to focus on but he had no such luck. Drowners were even rarer then Witchers in Nilfgaard. Bandits weren’t a problem either. If Geralt wanted a fight he’d have to see if any of Emhyr’s guards wanted to go a round or two but the kind of control he’d need for such a fight would only make the experience frustrating, rather than bring the catharsis he so desperately wanted. 

Walking Roach around a great meander in the river, he stared thoughtfully at the way the track stretched straight and true for at least a mile ahead. Gathering her reins, Geralt pushed Roach into a trot, and then further into a nice controlled canter and finally he spurred her into an open gallop, lifting himself from the saddle. The wind whipped through Geralt’s hair and whistled past his ears, trees streaking away on one side of him, the river on the other. Dropping Roach’s reins he flung his arms out either side of himself and roared. 

A flock of birds startled to wing in a tree up ahead, cawing their indignation at him. Geralt ignored them and roared again. Attempting to release all of the emotion that had built up in him while he’d been stewing in his cold bed. 

It was somewhat successful. 

When he brought Roach back to a walk and turned her towards Nilfgaard City, he felt somewhat quietened, his mind mostly peaceful. Geralt didn’t let himself enjoy it, that would be too kind, but he didn’t try to destroy it either. Knowing that if it hadn’t evaporated by the time he reached the capital, it certainly wouldn’t last upon laying eyes on Emhyr, so he let himself wallow in the hollow respite.

-oOo-

Geralt was dozing lightly, still not used to sleeping away from Emhyr even after a week. It was plainly obvious in Emhyr’s actions that he wanted Geralt to join him in bed, but Geralt continued with his self enforced isolation. The bruise had turned the sickly yellow green of the almost healed, a few more days and it would only be able to taunt Geralt from the confines of his own mind.

He jolted awake, first unsure as to what had caused his return to the waking world. A few moments passed, the only sound Geralt’s heartbeat thumping in his own ears. Then from Emhyr’s bedroom, a distressed moan. Nightmares were uncommon but after what they’d been through, expected. 

Climbing out of bed, Geralt pulled on a pair of loose sleep pants before padding through the dark suite of rooms. Emhyr didn’t wake when he entered the bedroom, nor did he when Geralt pulled back the covers and laid down on his side. He knew he didn’t need to climb into bed with Emhyr, could easily perform his task seated on the edge of it, but he was tired and the inexorable pull to be at Emhyr’s side was dictating his actions.

Only when Geralt reached out and laid a hand on his chest, shaking gentle, did Emhyr wake. There was no way Emhyr could see him in the darkness but nothing as simple as situational blindness had ever stopped Emhyr from knowing what was happening around him. Without a hint of hesitation he turned into Geralt, soft and pliant and completely heart breaking. 

On instinct, Geralt’s arms wrapped around him, cradling him against his chest. Having Emhyr in his arms again, being able to feel his warmth, the smooth skin of Emhyr’s back under his palms, to rest his cheek against the top of his head and breath in his content scent…it was intoxicating but also felt jarringly wrong at the same time.

“Stay,” Emhyr mumbled into Geralt’s shoulder, sleep slow and wary, the word a stab through his heart. 

“Only until you fall back to sleep.” That would be safe, he shouldn’t have even climbed into bed with Emhyr in the first place and hated himself for giving into a desire that put Emhyr at risk.

“What if I don’t?”

“Then I feel sorry for the senators present at tomorrow’s session,” Geralt said, raising a hand to card through Emhyr’s silky hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, just the way he knew Emhyr liked it. 

“That’s a dirty trick,” Emhyr grumbled, but he still pressed back into Geralt’s hand. 

It didn’t take long, five minutes at most, before Emhyr’s heart beat slowed and he completely relaxed against Geralt, asleep again. Geralt couldn’t bring himself to stay a moment longer. Very carefully, so as not to wake his love, Geralt extricated himself from Emhyr’s arms and retreated back to the other bedroom.

-oOo-

The bruise was gone but Geralt could still see it with picture perfect clarity in his mind’s eye whenever he looked at Emhyr. He wanted to touch him again, desperately missing the more intimate aspects of their relationship that came with the physical side of things but struggled with more than the most gentle touches.

Emhyr had clearly been trying to help him too, in his own way. Geralt’s favourite foods were being consistently served to them, vases of his favourite flowers kept appearing in his room, a new, far wider bed had replaced Emhyr’s double and he had offered to have Eskel tracked down and brought to the palace for him. The gestures were a _lot_ and Geralt appreciated them but they also sometimes made him feel worse. 

All of it added together and equaled Geralt waiting outside of Gethin’s office on a deserted corridor in the eastern side of the palace. He had met Gethin before, everyone who lived in the palace was introduced to him but at the time Geralt had never thought he’d actually find himself visiting the councillor. Still, despite his trepidation, Geralt knew it was for the best and had asked Elis to organise an appointment for him. 

The city bell towers began to ring in the hour and after taking a deep, fortifying breath, Geralt knocked on the office door and let himself inside.

-oOo-

It was late evening, they’d just had dinner and had retired to their sitting room. The wood panelled walls and packed bookcases, the thick rugs, comfortable couches and armchairs, coupled with the large fireplace, always put Geralt at ease. He had some fond memories tied to the room. His and Emhyr’s first kiss had taken place on the very couch they sat on, he’d first admitted to Emhyr he loved him while Emhyr rode him in front of the fire. Good things happened in their sitting room.

Emhyr was sketching and Geralt was attempting to read but his mind kept rolling around a suggestion Gethin had given him. The sessions were certainly helping and Geralt thought he was ready to take things a little further. 

“So you know I’ve been visiting Gethin,” Geralt broached, closing his book and turning to his love. 

“Yes,” Emhyr replied, looking up from his sketchbook. “I can assure you I don’t know what the two of you discuss. My stipulation for complete honesty does not extend to those meetings.”

“I know, that’s not what I want to talk about but thank you,” he smiled, a small thing but genuine, “I appreciate it.” Emhyr nodded, then Geralt continued, “He says that I need to do things to prove to myself that I'm not a _weapon_.”

He was a weapon of course, forged in Kaer Mohren and honed after years on the path, ready to be pointed at any enemy. He’d used his hands and body to maim and kill countless creatures and people but there was, according to Gethin, an important distinction to be made. His hands may know how to fight and destroy but while in the palace, that was not their purpose. In the palace they were instruments of care and support and pleasure, Geralt just had to convince himself of that.

“And you have a proposal for me?” Emhyr asked.

“I want to rub your feet.”

Emhyr wasn’t moving but he still somehow managed to visibly still, his shoulders tensing. Geralt didn’t understand, he’d assumed Emhyr would enjoy having the tension in his feet massaged away by hands, Geralt knew, he loved. 

“Perhaps,” Emhyr said, tongue flicking out to lick his upper lip, “you could do my hands and forearms?” 

“Alright. Can I know why?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Emhyr considered his response for a moment, before answering, “My feet are ticklish.”

Geralt blinked at Emhyr a few times, and then, as if he was circling in on prey rather than finding out new information about his partner, slowly asked, “How ticklish?” 

“Never you mind,” Emhyr sniffed, haughty. 

“So if I-” Geralt dived off the couch, his book flying, intent on Emhyr’s socked feet. He’d been unaware of Emhyr’s affliction and assumed that was by design, still better late than never. 

“No!” Emhyr yelped, Geralt hadn’t even been aware he was capable of such a noise, yanking his feet up and twisting, throwing them over the back of the couch. 

A laugh bubbled up in Geralt’s throat and he set it free, unable to quite believe what he was seeing from his place sprawled out on the floor. Emhyr was lying with his back on the couch seat, legs dangling over the back, his head hanging off over the end of the seat cushion. The look of ire on Emhyr’s face only made Geralt laugh harder. After everything that had happened, it was quite freeing to laugh with such ease. 

Still chuckling, Geralt crawled over to Emhyr and pressed a very gentle kiss to his lips. Kissing upside down was strange but no less lovely. 

“Pleased with yourself?” Emhyr grumbled when Geralt pulled away. 

“Incredibly,” he grinned, sinking back into a kneel.

“The indignity!” He complained, righting himself and watching Geralt like a hawk. 

“Yeah, but it was funny though.”

Emhyr moved to sit with his feet tucked under his bum and when he was finally settled he said, “You may massage my hands and arms now.”

“How kind,” Geralt snorted.

Emhyr bared his teeth in reply, holding out his left arm. Geralt sprung to his feet and sat down next to his love, taking Emhyr’s hand in both of his with a large amount of trepidation curling in his stomach.

-oOo-

Geralt was still at the breakfast table, Emhyr had risen for his bath before Geralt had finished so he’d picked up the romance novel he’d been steadily making his way through. Upon finishing eating, he hadn’t moved, engrossed in a particularly saucy section. He heard Mererid coming of course but assumed he’d continue on past the dining room, instead he stopped in the door and cleared his throat.

“His Majesty requests your assistance,” Mererid said. 

“Oh?” Geralt inquired, dragging his gaze away from the book. 

“Yes.” Mererid didn’t look like he was going to elaborate, although it was a toss up between whether Emhyr had told him not to or because he was being purposefully obstinate. 

With a sigh Geralt rose from the table, tightening the sash of his dressing gown before following Mererid from the room. He was led to the bathroom, the dark tiles lit by sconces lining the walls. The bath was empty but the air smelled of fresh water and soap. 

Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room was Emhyr, still in his own dressing gown but clearly just bathed, his hair still wet and hanging loosely down the sides of his face, curling ever so slightly. Beside him stood a small table, laiden with everything one needed for a facial shave. 

Mererid bowed and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Geralt asked, incredulously, “You want me to shave you?”

The look Emhyr gave him let Geralt know what he thought of such an obvious statement. 

“I won’t ask if you’re sure,” Geralt snorted. 

“A small miracle.”

“Oh hush,” Geralt rolled his eyes, always taking pleasure in the fact that he was the only person on the continent who could tell Emhyr to be quiet without facing serious consequences.

“Make me,” Emhyr smirked. 

Geralt took a predatory step forward into the space between Emhyr’s open legs. He raised a hand, letting it hover a hair's width from the black and silver stubble darkening Emhyr’s cheek and jaw. Emhyr’s eyes closed, clearly expecting a touch, but instead of touching, Geralt moved his hand away, reaching for the shaving brush. 

Emhyr huffed out a breath through his nose, and pursed his lips as he opened his eyes, staring at Geralt with an annoyed edge. However that annoyance slipped away as soon as Geralt began painting the soap onto his stubble. 

Swapping the brush for the blade, Geralt tested the straight razor against his thumb, finding it wickedly sharp. Geralt was intensely grateful he had experience shaving the difficult landscape of Eskel’s face, allowing him to feel confident with the task ahead. Any damage done could be concealed with Emhyr’s broach but considering the circumstances he’d rather not even so much as nick Emhyr. 

After taking a deep breath, Geralt tilted Emhyr’s head back with a light touch to his hair and ran the blade down the plain of Emhyr’s cheek. The hair was easily sheared away, leaving behind pale, smooth skin in its wake. 

The intensity of Geralt’s concentration only increased as he dragged the razor over Emhyr’s top lip. So fixated on his task, Geralt barely breathed. It was only as Geralt was wiping the razor after a pass over Emhyr’s jaw that he noticed his love was breathing far faster than he should have been. Taking a silent, deep breath in through his nose, the sweet scent of Emhyr’s arousal tickled the back of Geralt’s throat. 

They hadn’t been intimate in over a month, it was no surprise that the closeness, even if not overtly sexual, could exhibit such a response in Emhyr. So Geralt wrote it off as a knee jerk reaction and began to remove the hair on Emhyr’s neck. However after finishing the first stroke he couldn’t deny the arousal in the air had somewhat _thickened_. By the time Geralt was running the blade over Emhyr’s windpipe, precum had joined the myriad of scents in the air. His own cock had even begun to fill, readily responding to his excited partner. 

To finish, Geralt lightly patted away the remaining soap with the waiting towel. There was a jar of face cream, and not wanting to leave the job unfinished, he scooped some out and gently rubbed it into Emhyr’s freshly shaven skin. 

All done, Geralt took in an audible breath through his nose, moving his head from side to side before stilling and gazing down into Emhyr’s lust filled eyes. “First your feet are ticklish, now you like the feel of a blade against your skin,” Geralt rumbled, raising an eyebrow. “Anything else you haven’t you told me?”

“I was unaware of my propensity towards the thrill of a knife against my throat. I’ve been shaved many times by various people over the years but none have provoked such a...carnal response in me.” He reached out and grasped Geralt’s hips, “That ability is yours alone.” 

“I’ll have to shave you more often.”

“Please do.”

“You could grow out your body hair a little,” he suggested, the way Emhyr’s hands tightened and he spread his legs a little further making Geralt’s cock jump, enjoying Emhyr’s enjoyment. “Then I could spend an afternoon slowly shaving you until you’re _completely_ bare again.” 

Emhyr swallowed, licked his lips and then said, “That's quite the suggestion.”

“I’ll happily make it a promise,” he winked, relishing the playful mood. Dropping to his knees he stared up at Emhyr through his eyelashes. “For now, I have something else in mind.”

Geralt reached out to draw Emhyr’s cock from the confines of his dressing gown but before he could grasp the fabric something inside of Geralt stopped him in his tracks. Unbidden his mind presented him with the image of Emhyr’s bruised face. Attempting to push the image away, Geralt breathed deeply, trying to return to the easy excitement that had just pervaded him. But the image wouldn’t be moved and Geralt’s cock quickly softened. Hands shaking he tried once more to make himself free Emhyr’s hard length but before he could close his fingers around the dressing gown, Emhyr’s own hands covered his. 

“Don’t force yourself.”

“I want to,” Geralt hurriedly reassured him. 

“I’m sure a part of you does,” he easily agreed, “but another part does not and that’s perfectly acceptable.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You do,” Emhyr said, drawing Geralt up and pulling him until he was sitting sideways on Emhyr’s lap, his arms wrapped securely around Geralt’s waist, “frequently, and without even laying a hand upon me.” 

Geralt slipped an arm around Emhyr’s shoulders and let the other rest upon Emhyr’s chest as he frowned down at his love. 

“There is not a day that goes by,” Emhyr continued, “where you do not lighten my mood in some way. I have returned to our apartment in the blackest of rages after a day at court only to take one look at you and feel exponentially better. Then on top of that you’ll do something insufferable like make me _smile_ , or, the Sun forbid, _laugh_ with your intellect or wit. The sexual aspects of our relationship are merely the icing on top of a very large and fulfilling cake. I went fifteen years without indulging in more than my own hands, your touch is exquisite but if all you wished to do for the rest of my life was to share chaste kisses then I would accept that and be grateful for it.” 

Geralt laughed weakly and dipped down to press a sweet kiss to Emhyr’s lips. He always had such a way with words, and as always they made Geralt melt. How lucky he was to be the only one privileged enough to see such a side of Emhyr. Many assumed that because of who Emhyr was he’d be an awful partner, but nothing could have been further from the truth. 

“Thank you,” Geralt whispered, lightly cupping Emhyr’s jaw before kissing him again. 

“I love you, Geralt,” Emhyr said, with unwavering sincerity, “and I’m proud of you for having reached a point where you feel comfortable holding a knife to my throat. That is no small thing.”

So moved by the acceptance and care, Geralt couldn’t reply with words. Instead he pushed his face into Emhyr’s neck and clung to him, sure that Emhyr would understand what he was too moved to say aloud.

-oOo-

It was early evening, Geralt was lazily reclined in one of the dressing room armchairs, watching Emhyr change into formal attire with Mererid’s help, ahead of his dinner with the Prime Minister of Gemmeria. The man was just about to retire, and for his tireless service, he was being thanked with many things but most notably, with a private meal at the Emperor’s table.

So Geralt watched as Emhyr was dressed in the finest robes and when he moved to the dressing table to deal with his hair, Geralt stood and asked Mererid to leave them. After waiting for Emhyr’s nod he left without complaint. 

Without a word Geralt approached the dresser, stopping when he was directly behind his love. Reaching over Emhyr’s shoulder he picked up the waiting hairbrush and began to delicately run it over Emhyr’s silky hair. 

“That feels nice,” Emhyr murmured. In the reflection, Geralt could see he’d closed his eyes and his shoulders were far more relaxed than they normally were at that time of day. 

Geralt hummed in response, adding a little more pressure behind each stroke. Emhyr’s hair wasn’t tangled, it just needed reminding of where it was supposed to sit. Once done, he kissed the top of Emhyr’s head and set down the brush, letting his hands rest lightly on Emhyr’s shoulders. When he felt no negative response to the actions, Geralt allowed himself to feel tentatively happy. 

“Thank you,” Emhyr said, opening his eyes. 

“My pleasure.”

“You are a pleasure, that is correct,” he nodded.

Geralt couldn’t help his blush.

-oOo-

Geralt couldn’t sleep, something that was still quite usual since he’d moved to the other bedroom, even after two months. Across the dressing room he could hear Emhyr breathing and the beat of his heart. He was awake too, tossing and turning just as Geralt was. Not only was sleep evading Geralt, but he was cold and he wanted a cuddle, to hold Emhyr in his arms and be held in return.

So after a brief argument with himself, Geralt climbed out of bed, padded across the suite and climbed into bed with Emhyr. The new bed really was huge, Geralt had to shuffle a yard and a half across the mattress before he could wrap his arms and Emhyr and pull him against his chest. 

“Are you staying long?” Emhyr asked, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s neck before settling with his head tucked under Geralt’s chin. 

“Not sure,” Geralt answered honestly, “but I’m aiming for all night. I miss sleeping next to you.”

“I miss having you next to me,” Emhyr murmured. 

“And I think I’m ready to begin starting every night here.” Geralt ran his hands up and down Emhyr’s back, glad he’d decided to sleep naked so he could feel Emhyr’s skin under his palms. “You’re so warm.”

“I must reward Gethin. A new carriage perhaps, or a country estate.” 

Geralt chuckled at the grand absurdity of Emhyr’s suggestions, but despite being slightly over the top, it still warmed Geralt’s heart that he was that grateful to have Geralt back in their bed. He pressed a kiss to the top of Emhyr’s head before rubbing his cheek into his soft hair. 

Emhyr fell asleep quickly, his breathing even and the warmth of his skin lowering ever so slightly as his slumber deepened. Geralt let himself drift, just dozing, enjoying holding Emhyr far too much too allow himself to fall into a deeper sleep, which was a much nicer reason to stay partially awake then because he was simply scared. It just felt so comfortable and right to be in bed with Emhyr again. Of course Geralt understood he wouldn’t always feel like that, the journey out of the woods wasn’t quite over yet, it was just a fluke he was managing to hold his nerve during their first night together since he'd began to convince himself he was not, in fact, an indiscriminant weapon. He was very sure though, that at last, the trees were beginning to finally thin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope it watered everyone's hurt/comfort crops :D I have a couple of other Geralt/Emhyr fics uploaded on here if anyone is interested ;D I honestly just can't express how much I love this pairing *sighs dreamily*
> 
> [My Tumblr!](https://lutes-and-dandelions.tumblr.com/)


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